by Adi Alsaid
“You know,” Julia said. “My instinct right now is to be a supportive girlfriend. But I have no idea what that would entail, in this specific situation. So I’m gonna be a supportive best friend and say this: You wanna go get mac ‘n’ cheese?”
She didn’t get as much of a reaction as she’d hoped, just Dave’s little snort/laugh thing. Not overwhelmingly reassuring. Then Dave opened his eyes and smiled at her. “You know how wonderfully bizarre it is to hear you call yourself my girlfriend?”
“I think I do,” she said, and leaned back into him.
LAZY
BEFORE, WHEN DAVE had dreamed about love, this is what it looked like:
It was lazy. Love was lazy as hell. Love laid around in bed, warm from the sheets and the sunlight pouring into the room. Love was too lazy to get up to close the blinds. Love was too comfortable to get up and go pee. Love took too many naps, it watched TV, but not really, because it was too busy kissing and napping. Love was also funny, which somehow made the bed more comfortable, the laughter warming the sheets, softening the mattress and the lovers’ skin.
Dave was staring at Julia’s face. He was lying beside her, his head a few inches above the warmth of her skin, the pink hair that he loved finding all over his room. Dave tilted his head to the side, his eyes open wide.
“You are such a weirdo.”
Dave blinked, bobbed his neck.
“What are you even doing?” Julia laughed, flinching. Then he sprung on her, attacking her face with kisses, dozens of quick pecks that left her breathless from the laughter. She put her hands on his face and moved him toward her mouth.
This was exactly like everything he’d dreamed about. True, it had felt close to this with Gretchen, too. True, he still found long blond hairs on his carpet, on his clothes. Sometimes, he caught himself about to compliment Julia in the same way he’d complimented Gretchen before. But he imagined that love often looked similar, regardless of who was involved. He tried to think of a compliment he’d never said and when nothing came, he buried his face into her neck. They hadn’t done a thing for hours. The TV was on, but God knew what it was playing. Homework had not left their backpacks in days.
Dave fell back onto his pillow. “I need to pee.”
“If you get up, you have to pee for me.”
“Why haven’t scientists figured that one out yet? You should be able to transfer the need to pee.”
Dave pulled back to fluff his pillow. He found the remote and turned to the TV to put on a movie. They hadn’t even made it through a movie as a couple yet. Before the closing credits could roll, they’d both be asleep, or giggling, or...well. He got distracted halfway through scrolling to look down at Julia. Brushing her pink hair behind her ear, he wondered why it often looked like she was tearing up. The first few times he’d asked if everything was okay, she’d looked at him like he was crazy. So he’d stopped asking. Every time he saw that glint, though, he wondered what was on her mind. Maybe nothing was, and it was just him imagining things.
He placed his hand on her shoulder as he turned his attention back to the TV. It was hard to have her nearby and not touch her. At school, their legs were constantly shifting under their desks, always leaning against each other.
“What’s that one?” Julia had turned to look at the TV.
“That’s, uh,” Dave said, stammering, not wanting to bring up the fact that the movie she was talking about was the one he’d watched with Gretchen, “I watched that already. Not great.”
“But is it not great in a great way?”
“Not really.”
“Ah. Lame.”
Dave kept scrolling through the options, and Julia scooched closer, resting her head on his chest. Downstairs, he could hear Brett and his dad watching sports on TV, nothing said between them. He finally chose some political drama series that he’d heard good things about. It didn’t take long for Julia to fall asleep, and the feel of her breathing made him want to join her. Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand, and despite the comfort and the warmth, his arm jolted for it.
Gretchen’s name was on his screen. It wasn’t a text message, but an e-mail. The subject line was empty, only a few words from the body of the text appearing in the preview. Did you know...was all he could see. He stared at his phone for a second, then looked down at Julia. She was in a tank top and the shorts she’d borrowed from him every time she’d come over that week. The three freckles on her neck were right in his line of vision. He’d kissed every one of them over and over again.
Dave slid his thumb across the screen. He owed her that much. Even if the bliss of having Julia often distracted him from the fact, Dave felt awful about what he’d done to Gretchen. If she’d written an angry e-mail telling him what an awful person he was, then he deserved the discomfort of reading it. As the e-mail loaded, he planted a kiss on the top of Julia’s head.
...that I almost told you that I love you? I know that’s insane. But I’ve always been quick to love, and I’m actually surprised I held it in this long. I shouldn’t even be writing this e-mail. If my friends knew I was writing it, they’d yell at me, and I’ll probably yell at myself tomorrow. Unless I don’t get any sleep, as has been the case, and my mental state is even worse than it is at this moment.
You hurt me, Dave. You’re smart enough to know that. Part of me wants to rub it in your face, how much you hurt me. But the other part of me loves you enough to want to say this: It is not totally, completely, unequivocally your fault. Your heart is an asshole for choosing someone else. But I know that’s not a choice that’s yours to make.
Most days, most moments, I’m angry at you. But right now? This second? I hope you are happy. Even if it’s with her. I really do.
Someone in the TV show was yelling. A sliver of sunlight broke through the blinds and landed across Julia, right where her tank top had bunched up to expose the skin of her lower back. Dave tried to stop rereading the e-mail but couldn’t help himself. He’d take a look around the room, try to follow what was going on in the show, watch Julia. Then his thumb would slide across the screen of his phone again and he’d reread Gretchen’s words.
He fell asleep cuddled close to Julia, and when he woke up the room was no longer as warm, the day slept away. Julia was putting her shoes on, back in her school clothes. “The dads want me home for dinner,” she said. “Sorry I’m boring and fell asleep for so long.”
“Me too. I mean, I’m sorry I’m boring and fell asleep, too. Not that you’re boring. I don’t think sleeping with you is boring.”
Julia kneeled by the side of the bed, running her hand over Dave’s head. “I’m gonna let you keep rambling on until your foot is completely in your mouth.”
“I’m done now.”
“Tease.” She leaned over and kissed him. “I like this. Spending time with you this way.”
“Me too,” Dave said, and he reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, thinking about Gretchen’s e-mail, knowing he’d reread it again as soon as Julia was gone.
o o o
Later that night, Dave was wide awake, having napped too long to be tired. A text came in from Julia, who was in the same predicament.
I bet if we were still in the same bed we could fall asleep, she wrote. After a certain act or two.
You mean eating sandwiches, right?
Yup.
Dave played the next episode in the political drama, which he’d gotten hooked on after Julia left, despite not actually following most of what was going on. Which would you say is the sexiest sandwich?
Grilled cheese, probably.
Pfft, Dave wrote. Grilled cheese is a sandwich you settle down with, a sandwich that you would want raising your kids. I’m talking the kind of sandwich you want to stay up all night eating. The kind of sandwich you wouldn’t introduce
to your dads but would tell all your friends about.
The three dots that meant Julia was typing stayed on for a while. He’d chosen her. That’s what he kept thinking. That he’d chosen her.
That was kind of hot.
What? The sandwich?
You, you goof.
Dave typed out a few responses, but none of them felt right. He put the phone down and turned his attention back to the TV, waiting for something else to come to mind. Almost fifteen minutes later, his phone buzzed again.
doing anything?
For some reason, the lack of capitalization, the fact that she’d sent only two words, it made him wonder if she was upset, if he’d said something wrong. It was ridiculous to think so, and Dave shook his head at the thought that he’d become the kind of person who overanalyzed the grammar in a text message for subtext. But ever since the beach, he’d been having trouble reading her, as if being physically close to her had muddled up how well he knew her. In bed with her, he’d found himself struggling to come up with things to say, settling instead on making her laugh some other way. Not really. TV. Thinking about sandwiches in ways I’ve never thought before.
Another five minutes passed before he added, You?
Trying to think of a way to convince you to be in an open relationship so I can keep seeing Marroney on the side.
Jerk.
Monogamist, she responded, attaching a picture of herself sticking out her tongue. The lights were on in her room, her hair down, wearing a different tank top than before. Once, receiving a picture like this would be bittersweet, the joy of her face, the sadness of being without it.
Dave turned over onto his stomach. There was a crick in his shoulder from sleeping in awkward positions just to hold Julia close. He put his cell phone on the second pillow and closed his eyes, trying to force himself into tiredness. Then he caught a whiff of honey on his pillowcase. It made sense. He hadn’t changed his sheets in a couple of weeks. He wondered if Julia had smelled it, if she’d known that’s what Gretchen smelled like. If that’s why Dave had thought he’d seen a flash of sadness pass through her eyes.
Before he fell asleep, Dave wondered why it wasn’t just Julia in his head. Why he couldn’t think of what to respond to her. Why that one line from Gretchen’s e-mail was imbued in his thoughts. Your heart is an asshole for choosing someone else.
ENERGY
JULIA AND DAVE sat in the gym, watching kids play basketball. The tree house had silently been given up, no longer their lunch spot. No one had really said anything to keep them away, but Julia couldn’t stand the way Gretchen’s friends looked at her, as if Julia herself had set out to break Gretchen’s heart.
“Any news from your mom? End of the year’s getting close.” Dave dipped a celery stick in hummus, the crunch loud despite the sound of sneakers squeaking on the hardwood.
“Not yet. I think she’s waiting on ticket prices to go down,” Julia said, though her mom had not told her anything close to that. She actually hadn’t heard from her mom in a couple of weeks. But she was trying not to read anything into that. “Basketball would be more exciting with some rule changes,” Julia said. “Like, multiple balls and secret tunnels that lead to bonus points.”
“So, basically you want basketball to be more like pinball.”
“That’d be perfect.”
Another crunch from Dave’s celery stick. Julia bit into her chicken salad sandwich. “You think she’s actually gonna come?”
Julia chewed slowly, watching the kids run up and down the court, sweat clinging to their T-shirts. “Shit, Dave, I don’t know. I hope so.”
The days had started to feel much longer. Julia found herself yearning for the final bell to release her and Dave into their own little world. The time they spent together at school felt somehow lesser, as if now that they’d become a couple it was not acceptable for them to act like they had before. She constantly caught herself wondering how close to sit next to him, where to put her hands, how long to keep eye contact.
“Me too. Sorry.”
Julia took another bite from her sandwich. She leaned her head on Dave’s shoulder, chewing lethargically. “Is school over yet?”
“Like, for the day? Is your stroke coming back? It’s only lunch.”
“For the year, you goof. This week’s been brutal. I catch myself gazing out the window for what feels like hours, only to find out that it’s been two minutes and the class I’m in doesn’t actually have any windows. One of those violinists in my Euro history class has ADD so bad, I can’t pay attention.”
Immediately after she said it, Julia realized that the violinist she’d referred to had been there the night of the promposal. Julia had invoked Gretchen’s presence, and she could feel it in Dave’s silence. The sound of the basketball dribbling up and down the court reverberated, an amateur bass line, rhythmless.
Julia straightened out, finished her sandwich, narrowly avoiding a glob of chicken salad that plopped onto the space between her and Dave. He kept crunching on celery sticks. “How’s your day been?”
Julia hated the question. It had always felt to her like a question asked between people with nothing else to say. Her mom had once written to her that if she ever started her conversations with How was your day? to reexamine her choices in life. Like she always did with her mom’s nuggets of wisdom, Julia thought back, trying to remember the exact details of when or how it had been delivered. Probably when she was sixteen, when her dads had started begging her to make it through her teenage years without getting pregnant. It’d been a postcard from Costa Rica, the one depicting a green volcano, the handwriting on the back carelessly sprawling, so that only a couple of sentences fit. She’d always wished her mom could fit more on each postcard.
“How about your day?” Dave said, popping the lid back on the Tupperware of hummus. Julia hadn’t heard a word of his response.
“Enthralling, of course,” she said. “You ever wonder why asking ‘how’s your day been?’ seems so...desperate? I didn’t mean it that way when I just asked it now. But, I mean, what a boring question, right?”
Dave shrugged. “I don’t see anything wrong with it. I care about how your day’s been.”
“Yeah, but there are more interesting ways to ask.”
“Such as?”
Julia paused, suddenly defensive. “I don’t know. You could ask specific questions that’ll give you a better feel for the other person’s day. It’s like asking strangers how they are when you don’t actually care about the response.”
“What would you ask instead?”
A sigh escaped Julia’s lips and they both fell quiet. The basketball players started arguing about something, all in lingo Julia couldn’t understand. Julia wondered what she and Dave were even doing still at school. They could have gone off campus on their lunch breaks, snuck away to the harbor, avoiding the gaze of all the people who’d helped at the promposal and now didn’t understand why Dave was with the pink-haired girl instead of Gretchen. They could have been wrapped up in each other. Julia reached into her bag, found the side pocket where the Nevers list had been resting since they found it. She knew it by heart, knew that most of the items had been crossed off now. But she wanted something else to be on there, some new adventure to share with Dave.
“You could ask about erections,” Dave said, his voice cracking at the end.
Julia folded up the list, laughing. “Really? Erections are the best way to measure the quality of a day?”
“Maybe not the best way. But it could paint a picture.”
“That’s a pretty gross picture.” She looked over at Dave. When they were alone, she felt these uncontainable urges to touch him, not necessarily in sexual ways, just rub her face against his, lay a hand on his neck. At school, those urges fell away, and she sometimes found herself forcing the issue,
throwing her arms around him as if to prove something to herself. “Plus, aside from the gross inherent sexism of that male-dominated question, are you really saying each erection carries with it the same exact ecstasy? Every day, every man, an erection carries with it the exact same shot of happiness, every time?”
“This is a bizarre conversation.”
“Don’t back away now, David Vas Deferens. You started the conversation.”
Dave laughed, his hand going to the back of his neck. “Probably not the exact same, no.”
“Absolutely not. I mean, if the desire men feel is anything like what I feel—and, I’ll admit the flaw in this argument, since I don’t really know a thing about male desire, if it’s the same thing as female desire or a whole other beast—there are different grades of it. There’s the longing to be with someone you love”—here she gave him a stomach poke—“there’s the instinctive desire you feel for someone who you find attractive even though you have no intentions to pursue the desire. There’s the slight desperation in thinking that particular desire wouldn’t ever have the chance to live itself out. There’s the kind of sad desire that comes along with loneliness, the mad desire from sexual frustration. If the sexist question of how many times you had an erection had a perfect female equivalent, it would still have the completely erroneous assumption that all boners are created equal.”
Dave’s eyebrows were raised, his jaw ever so slack with surprise. As if to punctuate her speech, the bell rang, which caused the basketball players to groan in complaint. “Next point wins,” someone called out.
“Well, shit.”
“Plus,” Julia added, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder, “no erection could equal the amount of joy that a Marroney erection provides to the world.”
Dave made a face. “Yup, gonna throw up.”
“That got weird, didn’t it?”
“I want to say ‘massively weird,’ but I’m now strangely put off by the word ‘massive.’” They hopped off the bleachers and exited the gym, Julia leading them the long way around so they would avoid as many people as possible. It felt cruel that there was still an hour and a half left of school.
